


This Particular Friday

by writelights



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, M/M, Theatre, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 03:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17758604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writelights/pseuds/writelights
Summary: costume - to dress; furnish with a costume; provide appropriate dress for.





	This Particular Friday

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sad, gay theatre kid and this most definitely reads like something a sad, gay theatre kid would write.

Jehan’s idea of fashion was a cause for great distress in the mind of Courfeyrac. He was bright, he was tacky, and he didn’t even seem to notice. Of course, that can be expected of someone whose favorite musical is _Rent_ , but that didn’t make it any less painful for Courfeyrac.

The reason Courfeyrac was especially disturbed by terrible feather boa and jean jacket combos on this particular Friday was, in his mind, pretty much the end of the world as we know it: Jehan had taken up the job of costume manager for their high school’s production of _Godspell_ , which meant that Jehan had the liberty of dressing him in whatever obnoxious color combination he found fitting.

And now, as he sat in the costume room with nothing but dozens of thrift shop clothes and Jehan’s unwavering gaze, he was sure that this was how it felt to approach one’s death with dignity. After a few more moments of sitting there in that awkward, deafening silence, Jehan had had enough. “How do you feel about wearing a skirt?”

It wasn’t exactly a question Courfeyrac had been expecting, but it didn’t bother him either. He’d worn skirts for theatre before, as he’d played Ophelia in an authentic all-male production of Hamlet for his history of theatre class last semester, but never for an actual, legitimate production. “I don’t really care,” he said, though he was mildly terrified of whatever Jehan might have in mind.

Jehan’s face lit up, much to Courfeyrac’s enjoyment. He was surprisingly pretty when smiling, all dimples and red hair falling carelessly in his face. “Wait here a sec,” he said, disappearing into the clothing racks before emerging with a peach tulle skirt in his hands. “You’d need to wear something underneath it, of course, but I think it’d work really well with your complexion.”

Courfeyrac could feel the blush rising on his cheeks as he reached to take the skirt from Jehan, who was apparently oblivious to his embarrassment, bless his soul. After a few calming breaths and a bit of reasoning, Courfeyrac finally asked, “what would you have me wear it with?”

“There’s a light floral button-up around here somewhere I was considering, if you’re up for helping me look for it? The costume room’s kind of a mess, Cosette and I haven’t exactly gotten around to organizing it yet.” Jehan gestured helplessly at the cluttered floor and racks of clothes that hadn’t been touched in seventeen years. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find, I just saw it the other day.”

Courfeyrac nodded. He had nothing better to do, as rehearsal ended a half hour ago and he wasn’t too keen on heading home. His dad’s girlfriend was pretty much the opposite of chill, especially about his love for theatre. It didn’t help that last time she criticized him he told her to “shove her late Victorian sensibilities up her ass,” but alas, there are some things that need to be said.

“Great, thanks so much,” and without further ado Jehan pulled him into the jungle of clothes racks, the skirt still in his hands.

Now, the thing about the costume room was this: No one realized just how big it was until they were trapped in it with no hope for escape. The sheer amount of fabric in the room was enough to make any eighty-year-old seamstress faint. Everything from knockoff ball gowns to ratty pajama pants to marching shoes donated by tired seniors lined the walls, which were painted a hideous green color, by the way. And Jehan navigated it all as if it were his second home. He knew where most things were, what rack held what. Courfeyrac was amazed.

After a good ten minutes or so of aimlessly following Jehan (he’d gotten lost around the second left turn), the red haired boy held up a shirt in triumph. It was in fact a button-up, and a pretty one at that, though Courfeyrac would never say that outloud. It was a light cream, patterned with little roses. His dad’s girlfriend would absolutely _hate_ it, and that only made him like it more.

“I found it,” Jehan said, though that had already been established. “Let’s go have you try it on.” He grabbed Courfeyrac’s hand - a detail Courfeyrac tried not to focus on - and led him out of the maze of clothes. “Here you go,” he said, handing him the shirt after they’d emerged, “I’m sure you’ll look fabulous.”

Courfeyrac walked to the dressing room much slower than was necessary. For some reason that kept escaping him, he was nervous. He was struggling to keep his breaths steady and his hands were shaking ever so slightly, but he brushed it off as adrenaline. He had just been trapped in a weird costume maze, after all.

He took his time getting dressed, buttoning each button as slowly as physically possible. It would look good with a bow tie, he concluded. And then there was the skirt. He hadn’t anything to wear underneath it at the moment, nothing but his boxers. But it wasn’t too translucent, and besides, the only person seeing him would Jehan, so he slipped it on, tucking his shirt in as he pulled it up.

As he looked in the mirror, he decided that he actually looked okay, which was better than he’d been expecting. The skirt was soft against his legs, and when he spun it flowed around him beautifully. No, he wouldn’t admit to spinning around to watch the way it twirled, but it was definitely something he did.

A knock at the door as Jehan called, “are you okay?” told him that it was time to come out, and so he did. He liked to way Jehan was looking at him, full of giddy joy and admiration. “Would you wear it on stage? Please tell me you’ll wear it on stage.”

Courfeyrac made a show of thinking deeply before nodding slowly. “Yes, it is rather comfortable, actually. And it isn’t completely terrible, so hats off to you.” He managed a curtsey before bursting into laughter, and Jehan’s smile only grew wider.

His mouth pressed against Jehan’s hadn’t been something he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t exactly something he was opposed to either. Jehan’s lips were soft, and tasted like strawberry lip gloss, and they were pulled away from his entirely too soon. He opened his eyes to see Jehan looking at him, his greens eyes staring intently into his. Courfeyrac quickly committed the image of Jehan’s smudged lip gloss to memory, just in case he never got to see it again.

“Was that… okay?” Jehan’s voice was quiet, quiet enough that Courfeyrac was sure he could hear his heart beating. “I don’t want to, like, upset you or anythi-”

Courfeyrac cut him off swiftly, kissing him again, harder this time. Apparently Jehan’s terrible fashion sense did do some good, at least on this particular Friday.


End file.
